


She who plays the clown

by Petra



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: Bondage - Held down, F/F, Genderswap, Mirrors, Sex swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Price doesn't do men, but she might do the new DCI on the block.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She who plays the clown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatyourefuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatyourefuse/gifts).



> AU wherein Alex doesn't do men. The role of DCI Keats will be played tonight by [Polly Walker](http://pollywalkeronline.com/SOP-6.php). For [](http://thatyourefuse.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**thatyourefuse**](http://thatyourefuse.dreamwidth.org/) on the occasion of her birthday, and mirrors + bondage (held down) for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Thanks to [](http://scy.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**scy**](http://scy.dreamwidth.org/) for pre-reading.

Alex has grown used to being the strongest woman--or at least the most senior-ranking woman--as far as the eye can see and the imagination can map.

That makes DCI Keats--she of the heels she doesn't need, the smooth hair tight back in a bun, the glasses she looks at people over, and the Oxbridge accent that slips Essex only when she is very, very drunk--intimidating and relaxing by turns. Alex doesn't have to be in charge of the world, doesn't have to be the only example for Shaz and for every other girl who might be looking.

Not every moment, at least.

It's just as well Shaz has gone home, this evening, because there are some behaviors one doesn't model, and intimate encounters in the workplace are up on the list.

She's only slept in CID three times, and twice was in Gene's office, platonic as you like and exhausted beyond all lascivious intent, whilst they were dealing with Mack. The other time, she fell asleep working to try to save her parents. This isn't sleeping, and there's no innocent explanation for what she's doing in the tiny canteen with Keats's hand on her cheek and her knees shaking.

"Oh," Alex says. "I didn't think--"

"Your reputation precedes you," says Keats--says Jane, because Alex will not think of anyone who kisses her by their last name.

Alex grimaces. She'd have kept it all under wraps, if she'd known how long she'd be trapped here, but at the beginning, when she thought the puzzles were simple and the consequences were few, she had less discretion than she might now. And she'd thought it was funny, in an awful sort of way, that Gene decided to drop the "Bolly" that had never suited her and start referring to her as "Butch" instead when he heard about her one-night fling with the woman in the suit with shoulderpads the size of her head, whose name she no longer recalls.

She ought to have known from Sam Tyler's stories that the nickname would stick like glue. Her extrapolation of Gene is no less of a bastard than the one who haunted and hounded Sam. "It's only a nickname," Alex says, and tries to keep her balance on her heels. She dresses to counteract it, so that no matter how many times people hear Gene shout that at her, they will not look at her and believe it to be true.

She's never owned so much makeup in her life, nor so many pairs of nylons.

"Oh?" Jane raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. No one would believe it of her, either, not by the locally prevailing stereotypes. "Then you'd rather I didn't--"

"That's not what I meant," Alex says, and leans forward to kiss her again. It has been far too long, though they both taste like stewed tea and exhaustion. "It's just I'm not, I don't fit any of the rules that go with it."

"Ah," Jane says, soft in her ear, and presses her hand against the small of Alex's back. "You mean you'll let me touch you?"

Alex manages not to whimper with a sincere effort. She has always had a weakness for women whose confidence is larger than their physical forms. "Any way you like, but not here."

"If you're sure," Jane says, and if it was still 1981, Alex would say yes after the next kiss, teasing, sucking, easing her out of her mind.

If it was 1981, they would hardly be talking, and Alex would've dragged Jane over to her own desk and tugged her knickers down without thinking about it, because then, she knew it wouldn't last.

Now, she trusts the diabolical timing of her subconscious, and she knows that if they did anything of the sort, there would be some sort of terrible crime discovered and Gene would come charging in at precisely the wrong instant.

She can't think what he'd say that he hasn't said yet, as he's gone through every word she can imagine and several she would have sworn he made up on the spot, but he would probably string together enough pejoratives for a discrimination case, if there were any such thing here.

"It's not far to mine." Alex steels herself with a long breath and pulls away.

It seems closer than ever, barely around the block and up three steps for all she knows it's farther than that, and dream-logic so rarely works in her favor here. Jane barely seems to see it--the plush rug, the striped couch, all of the detritus of a life that's not really Alex's because she's not really living here--and cares less.

The benefit of making love with a detective--as Alex remembers all too well from the occasional tryst--is that they tend to be highly focused.

It's not five minutes after she shuts the door that she's screaming and running her fingers through Jane's hair, pleading for more, more, more and pressing her heels into the couch cushions while she rocks her hips up. "God, don't stop--" and her voice sounds broken, feels broken as all her rules.

She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to lose her focus again--a good detective wouldn't, not with so much to work for--but she can't remember what she's trying to achieve from moment to moment, most days.

But now her head is clear again, and she knows what she needs, just what friction will push her over the edge, and she's biting the base of her thumb to keep herself from waking all the neighbors. Jane keeps after her when she's done with the first orgasm, and she has to pull her hand away and say, "Enough," before the brush of rough tongue on too-sensitive nerve endings makes her howl more with overstimulation than pleasure.

"Already?" Jane grins up at her, her bangs tousled, her mouth shiny-wet.

"Of that, for now." Alex pushes herself up on her elbows. "There's a bed. It might be easier. If you can wait that long."

"I think I just might manage it."

Alex has had dreams and dreams of waking up next to people, in this bed and the one that came before it. Too few of her dreams--her sleeping dreams--have had to do with anyone this gorgeous, with long, strong thighs and the sweet-musky smell of someone who's safe, someone who won't throw it all back in her face. She has enough trouble keeping the words out of her head at the best of times when she does this, and she finds herself doing the cliche-ridiculous ABC's to keep them away now.

As if it matters what Gene thinks of her. He's not real, and if he were, she could match him word for word with his litany of abuse. He can tell her till he's blue in the face that he was never in love with any bloody men, but she made parts of him up, and she knows what she knows.

Why he hates the way she loves--well, she was enlarging on Sam's ideas, and he had a few self-esteem issues, did Sam Tyler.

Entirely unlike Alex, who tries to stop thinking about bloody stupid men who are imaginary and not there, and go back to a good spot of muff-diving, rug-munching, twat-licking, and cunt-nuzzling.

It is always more fun than it sounds, and it's no exception with Jane, who makes a pleased, surprised sound every time Alex finds the right rhythm for a few moments. "God, stop teasing me," she says, orders, once Alex has finally managed to get her head in the game and her tongue where it needs to go.

Alex teases her a moment longer till Jane's tugging at her hair--and she never thought she would miss that perm--and does her best to stop teasing and give as good as she's already got. Jane picks up her pillow and buries her face in it, as obvious a compliment as Alex could expect, and Alex would smile, if she wasn't so busy just then.

"Your turn again," Jane says in a remarkably clear voice a few moments later, and gives Alex another tug.

"Already?" Alex teases her, but yes, already. There's nothing like the feeling of someone shaking for her to make her want more.

They end up right-end-up on the bed, with Jane propped up on one elbow and Alex lying on her side facing her. "So, what possessed you to buy a bed with a mirrored headboard?" Jane asked, flicking her eyes at the reflective surfaces. "Are you that much of an exhibitionist?"

"No," Alex said, and her cheeks heated in a blush. "You're the one who tried to seduce me in the office."

"I didn't buy you this bed. Though I might've, if I'd known it was an option. Were you with someone at the time?"

"No." Shaz had never been more than an on-again off-again thing, and they'd had enough trouble keeping it from everyone with all of that.

Everyone, in that case, being more defined as "everyone below a certain rank and without a particularly nosy disposition" than anything else. There are a few things she's managed to keep out of Gene's awareness, but mostly because of his ill-defined and inexplicable unwillingness to hear certain things, no matter how loudly or fervently she says them. It's not down to her that he doesn't know things, these days.

But the bed had broken, and Alex had replaced it, with no reference to Shaz at all--one night, with someone whose face she can't recall anymore, after she'd had to deal with the horror of Patricia at 14 with unsightly braces and acne. She'd needed the escape

As for the mirrors, they'd seemed amusing and glamorous when she bought the thing, with only the vaguest intention of being around long enough to get any use out of it.

A year on, and this is the second time she's shared it. Jane looks at her reflection and runs her fingers through her hair, which is going to need to be brushed before she leaves again. "It's useful for some things, anyway," she says, and gives Alex an intimidatingly wicked smile.

"I don't follow you," Alex says. Lies. She's had the fantasy of using the mirrors for filthy purposes, but it's different having someone there with her who's willing to play along.

"You're awfully pretty," Jane says, and runs the tip of her finger over Alex's lips, tracing them as if she had a lip-liner pencil. "And I didn't get a chance to see your face, back there on your couch. Shall we try again?"

That's a patently dirty request to make, and for a moment, Alex hesitates. If she didn't know Jane, if she'd never see her again, it would be easier to throw herself into it, carpe diem and what does it matter if she's embarrassed? Then again, it's her headboard, and while she still hasn't worked out whether she's made Jane up from whole cloth, she's not going to back down from a challenge. "If you'll let me reciprocate," she says, because hell if she's going to let herself get that naked--figuratively speaking--without seeing something of Jane in return.

"Of course," Jane says, and there is something immensely wicked in her smile.

She doesn't look any less smug when she's got Alex on her knees, bracing one hand on the headboard above the mirror and thrusting her hips back against Jane's teasing, searching fingers. "Almost there?" she asks.

"Please," Alex says, and hates herself for it. How did she get here--what is she doing--she has a great deal of dignity to take back, and she will. Soon. As soon as Jane lets her come, and she ought to have said that teasing does nothing for her. She might have been able to say it plausibly, before, before Jane was nuzzling her ear and prying another gasping whimper out of her with a wriggle of her thumb.

"Open your eyes," Jane says, and Alex does it before she thinks of what she'll see.

She looks a wreck, flushed and tousled, her breasts dangling in a way that's flattering to precisely no one. She closes her eyes again as soon as she can, but it's too late to keep the image from her mind. "What are we doing?" she asks, trying to make her voice light, trying to make a joke, and failing entirely.

"You're going to come, aren't you?" Jane nips at her earlobe, and Alex moans. "And I'll be right here. Watching." She twists her fingers in a way that makes Alex have to move for her again, arching back and trying for anything that means she doesn't have to ask for more.

Alex bites her lip and tries to bring herself off without breaking the moment, without grabbing at Jane's wrist and forcing matters along at her own speed. It's not as easy as she wants it to be, not dream-swift, and she can hear the tiny wet noises of Jane's fingers moving on her, in her. "Just a little more," she says, and, "There, like that--oh, God--"

"Look at yourself," and that's half a command, half an exclamation.

She isn't thinking--she's beyond thought, her nerves sparking and cresting in an orgasm--and she does it, staring for one brief moment into her own wide eyes, the grimace that always looks like pain and feels like pleasure--how anyone could want to see her this way, she can't say, least of all while she's squeezing her eyes shut and clinging to the headboard for balance so she doesn't topple into it as she comes.

"Oh, fuck," Alex says, on her first good breath in minutes, and when she pushes herself up, she has to shake her hands out, she was holding on so tightly. "That was--" she shakes her head and can't put words to it. Good, amazing, too much, far, far too much for the first night with anyone, let alone someone she doesn't know, let alone someone she has to work with tomorrow as if they've never touched each other. "God."

Jane pats her on her back, not harsh and bracing like a man would, but in a way that's probably meant to be comforting. "It looked as though you were having a lovely time."

"I was," Alex has to admit, before Jane fishes for any more compliments. "It was overwhelming for a moment there, that's all."

Jane's laugh is one of the few times she seems unguarded, open-mouthed and pleased. "Well, thank you very much."

"No, thank you." Alex kisses her again, traces the line of her shoulder and her collarbone. "Do you want something more?"

"After that?" Jane raises her eyebrows in an expression so familiar Alex could be looking at her reflection again, save that they look nothing alike. "If you've any energy left."

The best revenge would be to turn the tables on her and make her see the same things Alex just saw, but that's not Alex's style, precisely. "Lie back," she says instead, putting Jane in a place where there's no threat of reflection.

"Ah, the classics," Jane says, settling comfortably against Alex's red pillow. Her hair clashes with it. "I was half-afraid you'd be one of those modern women who can only bear to do things lying side by side, no one in charge of anything."

It seems a difficult way to go about things. "No, I'm not that sort of modern," Alex admits. She runs her hand over Jane's stomach, then lower, through her damp curls. "Unless that's what you need," she adds, but if that was Jane's style, she'd never have talked Alex into kneeling on her own bed.

"Not at all." Jane folds one leg up, pale and flexible, and brushes her hair out of her eyes with her hand, then leaves it on the pillow. "Do you like being on top sometimes?"

Alex's stomach twists. She needs it, right then, but she couldn't have asked for it. She's ashamed of herself for giving in so easily and letting Jane call all the shots, but that's no reason to take out her embarrassment on someone else--except that somehow, construct or dream or dirty fantasy, Jane's offering. "If that's what you want," she says, and kneels up again, ignoring the ache in her thighs. It's worth all the exercise and the discomfort she'll have tomorrow to kneel over Jane, to kiss her and stroke her.

Jane takes Alex's hand in hers and holds onto it like it's a lifeline. "You can hold my wrists," she offers, half the words disappearing into breathlessness, and puts her hands over her head. "God, Alex--"

It doesn't feel like surrender, and Alex doesn't feel like she's in charge, not when everything she does is for Jane, to make her shudder and writhe. But it's close enough to it, for now, that she doesn't feel so raw. For a few moments, she knows what cause and effect mean all over again, and she can make things happen exactly the way they should, even if it's only Jane turning her head to the side as if she's surprised and making a small, wordless noise as she comes.

Alex doesn't know where to put her hands, after, until Jane says, "Would you just hold me?" and she can hardly say no to that. Jane feels chilled against her skin, not as though she's just been having sex, and Alex pulls the covers up over them.

"Was that enough?" Alex asks, feeling oddly diffident. The diffidence should've been there earlier, when it was nowhere in sight and she was tackling her superior officer onto her bed.

"Mmm, yes." Jane kisses her again lightly. "We'll have to do it again sometime, I think."

Alex hadn't hoped to hear that, hadn't let herself hope. It was one thing with Shaz--stolen nights, one glorious weekend when Shaz had made excuses to her family and they hadn't left the apartment until Sunday night--but Jane barely knows her, and can't have come to care for her yet.

As for whether Alex cares a great deal for Jane, she isn't sure she's capable of it, here, but it was thoroughly wonderful sex, and she could bear a great many inconveniences for that. "Sometime, yes," she says, and Jane laughs.

"Are you always this skittish about the least commitment?"

Alex can't think of the answer to that. "Things have been complicated," she says, instead of reaching for specifics that won't come. She knows she's made great commitments, on occasion--Patricia comes to mind again, both coltish with her outsized ears and older, grown into her face and her shoulders, and walking away in the worst betrayal, a betrayal Alex can't quantify--but Jane doesn't need the story of Patricia.

"Oh, Alex." Jane kisses her cheek and sits up, letting the sheets fall. "Anything worth having is complicated. And if we want to keep things less complicated than they might be, I'd best be going."

When Alex glances at the clock, it's just after nine. Not so late as all of that. She's had far later nights, talking in Luigi's over more wine than any two people should drink until even his Latin patience with dilatory customers gave way and he shooed her out. But if she asks Jane to stay, that will complicate things, and whiff of that commitment she's not sure she should give, yet. "I'll see you out," she says, and reaches for her shirt.

Jane's smile is amused, tolerant, nearly condescending. "Only if you kiss me good night."

Alex wants to ask her back to bed, after that kiss, but she won't let herself. "See you in the morning," she says, wishing they had more distance, that she couldn't see Jane's face so clearly behind her eyes, watching her come, twisting up in her own pleasure.

"Indubitably," Jane says. "Be a good girl and shower first."

Alex blinks at her. She would never think of doing anything else, not after such a night. "Of course."

"And remember your poker face." Jane pats her cheek. "I'd hate to have them all thinking the worst of you."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Alex says, feeling the weight of the decade coming down on her shoulders again. "Good night."

"We will do this again," Jane promises her, as she backs out the door. "Good night."

The thought of having it all to do again warms Alex on her way to the bath.


End file.
